


A Close Friend Of His

by sincerites



Series: death on one shoulder, life on the other [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Death Loves Fast Food (Supernatural), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pre-Season/Series 01, Relationship Study, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 04, Stanford Student Sam Winchester, Stanford University, briefly mentioned, for a hot second - Freeform, its a recurring theme, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28334826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerites/pseuds/sincerites
Summary: Dean's seen Death since the fire.He's never given much detail on why he's looked after Dean his whole life, what his claim is. Always non-answers and one sentence clues. But he stays. Through everything- thick and thin- and Dean can't help but be okay with it.Or also: Death is attached to the Winchester firstborn and he tries to show it in his own way.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Death & Dean Winchester, background Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Series: death on one shoulder, life on the other [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075034
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	A Close Friend Of His

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! I've been on a Supernatural megakick ever since 15x18 came out. I have like three spn fics coming out somewhat soon. I wanted to play around with some of my favorite canon things in Supernatural and thus, this was made.
> 
> I'm not gonna lie this timeline is incredibly wonky. Dean never picks up Sam from Stanford. John never goes missing, instead, he finds and kills Yellow Eyes during "Season 1" and retires in Kansas. The majority of Season 4 ends up getting squished into the tail-end of my version of Season 1. Basically, this whole fic is set primarily in '05/'06 so Dean is like 26/27 and Sam is 22/23 (not that he's here long anyway).
> 
> I know the ones who've read my stuff before are thinking "Girl, wtf is going on with Reconstruction?" and yeah, you're right. I've been struggling with it for a bit BUT I'm almost done with the new chapter so please don't be too mad. Those of y'all who haven't, you should go read it :D

He's seen Death since '83.

Dean remembered seeing a thin, old man in the cuts- always in his peripheral but never really  _ there _ . The man never spoke to him, only stood and watched over him at night. He was never cold, just silent. And on that night when everything changed, Death was the one that pushed Sammy into his hands and guided them through the fire.

-

Death doesn't reveal who he is until Dean turns sixteen. They're in a dusty motel somewhere in Athens, Georgia. Sam's gone off to the library, soaking in as much as he can before they have to pack up and leave. Dad ventured further south for a hunt in Tybee Island. He insisted that Kappa hunts were too dangerous, and left them once again. Dean confronts him, having nothing better to do, asking if he's a Reaper and the old man chuckled. Those chuckles turned into a full belly laugh, racking his frail frame. Hunched over, hands on his knees, howling so loud and yet no one but Dean could hear him. His voice is accented and betrays an air of wisdom and experience that Dean isn't expecting when he says "No." and then, "I  _ am _ Death." And Dean wouldn't believe him if it didn't make so much sense.

Why else would this strange man eye all of the people Dean and Dad save with an air of disappointment? How else could he hide in plain sight? Why else would Dean's watch never work when the man decided to show himself that day?

"What do you want with me?" Dean asks. Because that's the real question. Why would something that has the most lore out of all the baddies out there latch onto a child one bender away from being an orphan? Dean is just stuck in this life and he's too responsible, too needed, to leave. He's convinced himself that he likes this life because he had to. Dean couldn't dwell on the kisses and hugs Dad gave him before the love of his life died. He had to keep moving. He had to take care of Sammy. "Come on, answer!" He yells. Because he couldn't handle having more obligations. 

Death, the bastard, shrugs. Like he doesn't know the answer to something he's doing. He just intertwines his long, bony fingers and stares at the teen. "I'll tell you over Waffle House. I have a craving for sausage gravy and hash browns." And so they go. The two of them track down the closest Waffle House and order an All-Star Breakfast platter each. They share a plate of smothered hash browns between the two of them that mostly end up on Death's plate anyway. And,  _ finally _ , when Death has plowed through two-thirds of his food and he's sipping on his coffee, does he speak up.

That weird, kind of posh voice utters six words. "I have a plan for you." Dean scoffs. Death gets a twinkle in his eye before taking a deep drink from his steaming mug. "What? It's true."

"Why." Dean asks. It's the million dollar question. What could he have to offer to an omnipotent being? 

"I'll tell you over another lunch break at some point, I'm not in much of a rush." Dean wants to argue, he really does. But he doesn't want to push his luck, he doesn't want to fall out of this old man's good graces just yet. He has to think about Sam, the family. What would he do if he got them both killed? Dean wouldn't be able to live with himself. With the crushing feeling of failing his mission- his very first mission. And so, he leans back, drags a finger through the grey sausage gravy and says "Fine" around a mouthful of hand and salty grease.

He walks off the big, midday breakfast and picks Sam up from the library. Dean listens to him ramble on and on about Ralph and Jack and Piggy and Dean makes a mental note to steal a  _ Lord of the Flies  _ for Christmas. The whole walk, Sam never once looks in the direction of Death, despite the man's hawk-like stare. It's unnerving- how much Death stares- but Dean has grown used to it.

-

Two years after, John is off on a hunt after he and Sam got into a screaming match again. Sam is camping out at the park studying, as if he isn't getting straight A's already. And Death is there- like always- lingering and speaking to Dean every once in a while. Always in a faint voice. Always mundane things like you forgot a shirt under the bed or Sam's toothbrush is the right one or John isn't coming home, you should start on dinner. It's Dean's eighteenth and he's fine spending it with Death until Sam cools off.

They're in Mississippi right now, close to Jackson so at least he doesn't have to deal with crazy hicks. Death is lounging on a ratty armchair in the opposite corner of the room, resting his feet on Dean's deflated duffel. A laminated flyer is in his hands, boasting some of the best burgers in Jackson. A small smile tugs at Death's paper thin lips and he taps the flyer with a lithe finger. "Have a taste for burgers?"

And they're off again. This time in the Impala because, while John didn't stick around, he still gifted Dean the car with a small handwritten note on the windshield and keys in the pocket of his old leather jacket. They pull up to a place called Rooster's- it's quaint, but after a quick once over, Dean's disappointed to see there's a lack of pie on the menu. They both get the Stupid Burger- a bacon cheeseburger with garlic mayo and onions- and share a large order of fries with sausage gravy on top. Death seems to have developed an affinity for it, their trips to Waffle House since that day often result in them sharing gravy hash browns. 

Dean has a chunk of burger in his mouth when Death speaks up. He dabs at his mouth with a flimsy paper napkin and says "You're something like a protege for me." And out of everything Death could've said to Dean, he thinks that's the one he never thought about. "And also, I feel attached to you. You try so hard."

Once again, the taste of gravy feels weird in his mouth as he processes this information. "Am I going to die soon?" Dean asks. The years he's spent hunting with Dad have taught him that Reapers are only supposed to show when they're coming for you. He had tried not to look in Death's direction when they were reviewing that tidbit of information.

Death shakes his head. "No. Not yet, anyway. I'm just along for the ride right now." Death holds out his hand, gesturing for the plastic watch that's rendered useless everytime Death is around. It's unclasped and in his hand before Dean really thinks about it. Death uses a fork to carve an unfamiliar number into the metal. And before Dean can ask anymore questions, Sam calls him and tells him to come home for a surprise. Death's words stay in the back of his head even as he walks in and sees Sam's poor attempt at making a pie. The fourteen years old's wide smile and gangly outstretched arms are enough for him to forget for a little bit at least. Even as the number leaves a phantom burn on his skin.

-

Sam's off at Stanford and Dad is AWOL and Dean is just going through the motions at this point. Every now and then, Dad calls him with a new hunt and Bobby checks up on him but it's just Dean and Death. They talk more, now that Dean doesn't have to hide, and they keep going to greasy food joints and eat. Death only reveals small things over the years. Dean isn't going to  _ become  _ Death but Death has a claim over him. If Dean does die- and wants to come back- Death would actually think about it instead of flat out refusing. What the claim is for, Death won't tell. He's kept his mouth shut about that one for years.

Death is good company, he helps him out with hunts. Points out weird disappearances over hash browns and sausage gravy and gives Dean useful tips from his lore treasure trove of a memory. They bicker over pop culture- Death prefers the seventies for music and eighties for everything else- and have a standing date every birthday. The two of them go out in his precious Impala that holds so many memories- good and bad- and find the closest diner to share some pie.

He turns out to be even better in a fight. Death is always there, peeking around corners, warning when there's a trap, calling out flanking enemies. Other hunters tell him he fights with a set of eyes in the back of his head, Dean just smiles his thanks as Death winks from behind the hunter. 

They're in Fremont. He hasn't been in California in years and Dean can barely keep himself from driving to San Jose. Death suggests a Vietnamese place in the town next door to branch out from their usual places. The food is still greasy but Death throws back their eggrolls like it's nothing. Dean gets a combination chow mein and Death eats a large bowl of combination pho. He never understood where the thin man put away all the food he ate. Death pressures Dean into trying the Thai tea and it quickly becomes one of his favorite drinks, even with the weird ball things. 

The distraction helps a bit. It spurs Dean into doing a regular salt 'n burn, a twenty year old hitchhiker that got murked under an overpass. Death's warning doesn't register fast enough before he gets jumped by  _ demons  _ while the body's still burning. He sees something akin to sadness in Death's eyes when the knife plunges into his gut and twists. The demons whisper something to themselves before everything goes black and he plunges down down down.

Blinding white light and searing hands bring him up to the surface, the smell of pine and cut trees filling his nose. Dean breaks through the brittle box and claws his way out to a field of flattened oaks. Death isn't by his side for once. It's weird. It's lonely. He walks for miles until he finds an abandoned Gas-n-Sip and stocks up on supplies. The handprint branded into his skin makes him scared-  _ really  _ scared. And for once, Dean is unequivocally glad that Sam got out of the family business. There's a payphone nearby and Dean can feel hope build in his chest. Dean calls Bobby once, twice, three times and each time Bobby grows more and more irritated, growling out threats and hanging up. Dean peels off his watch and flips it over to see the old number Death carved into it still there.

He dials the number and the familiar, clipped, vaguely accented voice comes through the receiver. Dean's voice is rough from disuse and when he whispers "Hey D." into the phone, Dean hears everything go silent. He purposely uses the old nickname teenaged Dean used in an effort to forget the man was Death personified. Maybe Death will actually help him out and get him to Bobby's.

Death seems to have gotten over his shock and in an all business, no nonsense, insanely unexpected tone, he grounds out. "How are you alive?"

Dean can't help the way his stomach plummets to his feet. He presses forward, though. "I thought you could tell me." If Death himself doesn't know then what-  _ who _ \- did this? It's silent on the other line. "Look, is there a way you can get me? You remember Bobby? He doesn’t believe it's me."

"I will send a car for you, it will drop you at Robert Singer’s." A pause. "I will be by momentarily, I have to do some investigating. Stay safe, Dean Winchester."

"You know I try." The line goes dead and Dean goes back inside. Then a million whispers build and build into a million yells and the Gas-n-Sip's windows are diamond dust on the floor and his ears are bleeding down his jaw. He's still on the floor clutching his ears when a dark skinned woman in a crisp suit and shiny black dress shoes steps through the glass and offers a hand. He's up on his feet when she passes him a handkerchief and nods her head at the sleek Lincoln limo parked outside.

"I'm here to collect you." She says in a bold, honey sweet voice. She has a southern accent, like the sweet older black ladies in Nola who babysat him and Sam for the better part of a summer. “You have a set of fresh clothes in the car you can change into.”

And that's where he finds Dad's jacket, Dean's assortment of bracelets and rings, fresh jeans and a shirt. He changes quickly, even when the divider between them, Dean still feels weird about changing in front of some Reaper playing taxi for a human her boss is attached to. The drive is long but Death stocked the car with his favorite snack food, honey barbecue fritos and Arnold Palmer Arizonas. It held him over but by the time the limo pulled into Bobby's salvage yard, Dean woke from an unexpected nap with an angry and empty stomach.

He exits with an awkward nod to the driver and heads into Bobby's place. The man looks rough, tired and restless at the same time. Bobby tries to kill him, believing that Dean was either possessed or a ghost and then treats him to lunch. Sam is still at school, this time law, and has a sweet girl with him that supported him through the death of his brother a couple months ago. Bobby tells him that no one has heard from Dad since the man finally caught up with Yellow Eyes and ganked him two months into Dean's death. Dean has the feeling he's probably kicked back in Lawrence, licking old wounds.

Dean makes three phone calls. One, telling Sam that he's alive and to just trust him so Sam can go back to living his normal life. Another telling Dad he's alive and being cut short when Dad says he's going to Bobby's and seeing him. And the last telling Death that he's going to do some digging and to call if anything turns up. Bobby watches him through the last one, silently questioning who exactly is on the other line. Bobby doesn’t voice his questions, just continues flitting through tomes and ancient texts. They don’t find any big bads that have the juice to pull this sort of thing off and they turn in for the night after eating three bowls of ragu spaghetti each. Death still doesn’t show up, not even when Dean’s eyes slide close. 

Death is at the foot of his bed when he wakes to shouting. At first, Dean is up and ready to fight until he realizes Dad must’ve pulled into town while he was asleep. Bobby is probably ripping him a new one but Dean is too tired, too confused to care. Dad had left him before he died, Dean wasn’t too hyped to see him, no matter how much the people pleaser inside him wanted to be. Instead, he turns to Death. The man’s eyes are looking at Dean closely, searching for something. He steps close to Dean and rests a hand on the back of his head and rubs the short strands of hair. The contact only lasts for a couple of seconds, Death exhaling a shuddering sigh and retracting his hand back into his wool coat pockets. 

It’s silent between the two of them, Bobby and Dad are still going at it downstairs and Dean can hear the tail end of some of the barbs.  _ You didn’t raise those boys right. They’re my kids. _ But Dean focuses on Death. He’s trying to put his impassive mask back on but it’s cracked.

“I was sad. For the first time in eons, I was sad about someone’s death.” Death finally mutters. He looks at Dean and he can see it, the deep sadness in the other man’s eyes. “And I wasn’t the one who brought you back.”

Dean nods, “I know, we had an agreement about that. Back when I turned twenty-three, I made you promise.” Death doesn’t have an opportunity to respond because Dad and Bobby are in the doorframe staring at him with a myriad of emotions. They glance at each other, their previous squabble forgotten for now and fix him with a look. 

Dad speaks up first. “Who were you talking to, son?” Dean checks with Death, just a quick glance in his direction, and receives a nod as an answer. 

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but you have to believe me.” Bobby nods while Dad just raises an eyebrow. “I used to have an imaginary friend I talked about, right? The old, thin man in a suit.” Bobby’s eyebrows climb into his hairline when Dad reveals that he remembers. He’s probably questioning his parenting skills  _ again _ , cursing that he didn’t take him and Sam when he had the chance. “He’s still here and he’s actually the, uh, Big Daddy Grim Reaper.”

The splash of holy water to the face is expected, especially when Dad looks at Dean like he’s grown five heads. “So,” Dad starts. He has the same expression when he thought Sam was lying about how a motel lamp suspiciously broke when he was away. “You’re telling me Death has been on your shoulder for twenty-two years and you’re just now letting us now because….?”

“He can help us with figuring out what resurrected me.”

“He can help us with figuring out what resurrected you.” Dad echoes. And before any kind of argument or interrogation can start Bobby ushers them downstairs and into the kitchen for breakfast. 

They’re all scarfing down hearty plates full of potatoes, bacon, eggs, and biscuits- each with a steaming mug of coffee. And Dean can see Death eyeing his plate from a mile away even if the old man didn’t want to admit it. Dean looks up at Bobby, who just finished washing down a bite of potato with disgustingly sweet coffee, and clears his throat. “Do you know any breakfast places around here that have hash browns and sausage gravy?”

Bobby quirks an eyebrow, “This ain’t enough for you?”

“No, sir.” Dean chuckles, this breakfast was exactly what he needed. “The old man is eyeing my plate and his favorite is smothered hash browns.”

“The old man being….?”

“Death.”

“Right, Death.”

Dean isn’t expecting Death to seemingly materialize out of thin air and shock the old grouches into early heart attacks, but he does and rolls his eyes at their shocked faces. He smiles a humorless smile, annoyance present in his eyes and huffs. “Your son isn’t lying and I really am quite famished.” Death turns his attention solely on Bobby and continues. “And while your breakfast looks absolutely delicious, Robert, you didn’t make enough. So, where is the closest breakfast establishment?”

Bobby gulps, “Crack’d Pot. It’s on North Minnesota, kind of a bland building with a tacky sign out front, can’t miss it.” Death thanks him but not before rolling his eyes at Dean, to which he just shrugs. He vanishes and reappears on the front lawn, entering the same Lincoln that brought Dean there. Dean can see the driver wave at him through the window screen and he sends a polite wave back that further confuses the men still sitting at the table. 

Dad is glaring at Dean with a ferocity he didn’t expect. But what  _ did  _ Dean expect? He’d hidden this from him for years and only now spoke up when it was a matter of life and resurrection. And so Dean explains. Explains how Death had first shown up during the fire and how on Dean’s twentieth, over deep dish in Chicago, he revealed that he was the one reaping Mary at the time. Explains that Death only ever shows himself to Dean and he turned into somewhat of a hunting partner in the years leading up to Dean’s death. How the primordial entity wanted to help figure out who did this because it affected him too. Dean leaves out everything surrounding the plan that Death has for him and how  _ Dean  _ doesn’t even know what it is. 

They’re silent for a while, just processing, before Death comes walking from the living room. The to-go bag in his hands reeks of grease and meat and he sits beside Dean. The man tucks a napkin into his collar and diggs in with haste Dean has only ever seen starved animals do. His hash browns are bare, save for the salt and pepper dotting the golden brown crust. But sure enough, Dean spies a small styrofoam container filled to the brim with sausage gravy off to the side. Everyone just watches as Death eats through three pancakes with relative ease, before cutting into his country fried steak. Just before popping the bite into his mouth, Death dispels the silence. “I intend to find all parties responsible for this situation.” He chews through it before continuing, “That includes the demons that caused his death and descent into Hell, too.”

“Why should we trust you?” Dad asks, gravel rough voice grounding out the words with an unspoken threat in the air. 

“Because I have been watching over your son for a  _ very  _ long time and that mark-” He pointed a fork at Dean’s left shoulder, at the throbbing handprint that hadn’t left the back of his mind. “Directly conflicts with my business.” He wiped his hands with a cheap grease stained napkin, “Frankly, it reeks with angel stench and I’m not especially happy with that.”

That made Dean do a double take. “Angels, like  _ angels  _ angels. Like, harp playing, halo wearing angels.”

“Yes, Dean. Angels. Despite your reservations about Christianity as a whole, angels, God, Heaven, it’s all very much real. The issue here is what do they want with you.” Dean felt like he had been asking that question his entire life. The Big Man Upstairs wanted him alive,  _ why _ ? Death yanks him out of his thoughts once more. “I know of a way to summon the angel who resurrected you. If we start now, we can finish at a reasonable time.”

-

Castiel’s appearance is a shock to Dean’s system. They unload round after round of bullets in his trench coat and monkey suit but he keeps walking. The angel is handsome, with striking blue eyes, voice like fresh sandpaper, and a pair of furled black wings. Dad and Bobby are out cold and Death is off on emergency business. Something was going haywire with the Reapers and he left, regretfully adding that even though he cared for Dean, he still needed to tend to his duties. 

The angel gets in his face and asks why he doesn’t believe he should be saved, despite all of Dean’s unanswered questions. And that’s when the angel  _ truly  _ looks at him, he says he sees something like a mark on his soul. A claim made by Death and that Dean wasn’t really going to stay dead even if Castiel didn’t drag him out. The angel swears that Dean needs to be out of Hell and because if he had been down there any longer, the world would end. Castiel dodges all questions about Dean’s importance, doesn’t explain what that mark is, and leaves- promising that he will be back. 

Castiel visits him again later, when Dean is camped out on Bobby’s couch, in the midday, sleeping to drown out the incessant fighting between him and Dad. The angel comes to him in his dream, explaining that even though he doesn’t want it, Castiel  _ has  _ to stay with him through the end of the year. Something about averting the apocalypse that makes Dean’s head spin. He went from being a run of the mill hunter with Death as a close buddy, to someone pivotal in causing the apocalypse and on the radar of the Big Man Himself. He’s only twenty-six.

And like that, Dad is pressing his old, worn journal into his hands and Dean is leaving him and Bobby with the promise to call if anything goes sideways. Castiel is in the passenger seat, since Death is still dealing with the Reapers, and they go where people need them. He teaches Cas the ropes- salt-n-burns, silver kills most monsters, yada yada yada. The whole time, Cas is enamored. He reads the journal front and back, soaks up the tips and tricks hunters use to make their jobs easier, and starts to seem almost human. He becomes less of an overbearing protector and more of a hunting partner who happens to not have to sleep or eat or piss. Dean can’t help but miss the eating buddy Death was. When they roll into familiar towns for cases, he remembers the places Death would take them to. Dean never chose, always Death.

It’s been a few months now, still radio-silence from Death, and Dean feels himself growing attached to Castiel. The same attached he felt when he was with Cassie during the summer of ‘03 and he thought he could  _ actually  _ settle down and have a life outside of hunting. The angel is cute and weird but funny, always willing to learn new things and spend time with Dean when it seems like most people just wanted to leave. 

They’re in Vegas and a siren has been picking off casino-goers. Castiel and Dean pretend to be a newlywed couple on their honeymoon, desperate to burn cash for fun. The experience does funny things to Dean’s chest when he sees the crinkle of Castiel’s eyes as he learns how to shuffle. Dean has a suspicion that Cas sees something there too but fends off the urge to pursue it. The angel is just doing his job, he couldn’t have fallen in love with his assignment. Is that what this was? Had Dean fallen in love?

Love was what the siren did to you, the blind devotion and loyalty to only one person. He hadn’t even noticed he was under the siren’s control until the man with suspiciously dark hair and electric blue eyes was stabbed through by Castiel’s blade. Dean’s engraved gun was trained on his own temple, finger tempted to squeeze the trigger, when he came to. He dropped the gun on the seedy love motel bed and shuddered through a breath. The angel was staring at him with fear in his wide eyes, panting like he had just run a marathon. 

Dean can see a foreign emotion explode across Castiel's face. A combination of something akin to exhaustion, fear, and something else that was guaranteed to change whatever type of partnership they had into something different. They don't talk about it though. They just clean up the body, book it into California before sunrise, and ignore the tension in the air. Instead, Dean drags them to a late-night fast food taco place and their silent save for the crunching of the corn tortillas. He’s thankful for the distraction, thankful that his stomach took that stalemate between them to voice its need for sustenance. 

Dean's still Dean. He makes corny innuendos and forces Cas to watch old classics like  _ Christine  _ and  _ Die Hard _ . And Cas is still Cas. He still soaks up pop culture like a sponge and questions the very foundation of humanity. But it's in the back of their minds for weeks until they get a case in Palo Alto.

Students are going missing in Menlo Park and there's a pattern. All students from Stanford, all students were failing, all ruled suicides. He knows that Sam isn't failing, the kid's stupidly smart, but he can't help the terror that grips his insides. Cas offers him comfort as they roll up to the university but he doesn't truly understand. The only person who Dean had told every small detail about his feelings towards Sam and Dad was Death and that ass had been AWOL for months.

They pose as transfer students- Cas is a religious studies major and Dean picks mechanical engineering. It's the closest they can get to their true strengths, Dean often took apart his guns and motel microwaves when he was bored, but they wouldn't be here too long for the forged documents to be super useful. And they both have enough of a baby face that Dean fudges their ages a little on their transcripts. Dean does some digging around at the victims' dorms. Their roommates all say the same thing: the vic was struggling in school and, one day, up and left to kill themselves. 

There's tons of suicides to comb through at this school. It's a stuffy Ivy League that beats down on their students until there's nothing left. It takes weeks; they  _ actually  _ have to start going to class and take exams and do everything normal college students do. And the whole time, Sam lingers in the back of Dean's mind like a parasite that won't stop stealing his sleep. Dean's not ashamed; he picks up smoking weed during their time there. The gaseous relief is given to him by a friend in one of their shared classes and serves as an escape when thoughts get too much to cover up with snark and smiles.

Cas  _ finally  _ finds a possible culprit for the suicides. A freshman girl who committed in '93, she was a straight A student before uni and couldn't adapt to the workload. It wasn't like she could get help from her family, they were abusive fucks on the other side of the country who didn't so much as lift a finger when the school informed them of her death. Her body was cremated so she has two possible areas that she's still tied to. The first, is the Classics Library- it's filled with Greco-Roman literature and a small library that barely gets any visitors. The second, is a stretch of off campus housing that she lived in off Pamela and Lomita Mall.

It's only when they're going door to door does Dean realize why those streets sound familiar. Sam is staring at him, slack jawed and wide eyed, and Cas recites the script they went over in the car. He must not realize that this is The Sam and Dean isn't acting like this because he happens to be named Sam. The blond that's been walking around in the back must realize something's wrong because she opens the door even more and asks what they're doing there. Dean saves everyone from the spiel from Cas again and explains. "We're transfer students writing a paper about university suicides as a PSA type deal. We just wanted to ask a couple questions."

Sam doesn't say anything so Dean takes that as his cue to pretend they don't know each other. It hurts, but he's always done everything he could to keep his little brother happy. The girl, Jessica- but ‘call her Jess’, invites them in and Sam can't stop staring like he's seen a ghost. They ask their questions- no cold spots, no weird feelings, no suicidal thoughts, nothing- and head out the door. 

Sam tracks him down at his and Cas' temporary housing and hugs him like his life depends on it. He rambles through the expected questions: how was he alive? who was Cas? angels were real? how is he? blah blah blah. Dean saves him from asking about Dad, explaining that he killed Yellow Eyes and retired in Lawrence. That he actually does want to talk to Sam but leaves out that both of them are too stubborn to reach out first. He listens to Sam talk about his new life- his new friends, his new fiancee, his new law internship and Dean can't help but feel the bitter taste of bile rising.

Sam was just fine by himself. He got out of the 'family business' and built a life for himself that he actually  _ likes _ . One without Dean in it. So he smiles, goes through motions ('That's great, Sammy. Wow. That must be stressful, Sammy.) and pushes down his feelings. He steels himself to cut himself the rest of the way out of Sam's life and finish the job. 

The Classics Library is the hotspot. Turns out, their baddie had hidden a bookmark covered in her spit in the stacks on a dare. She just watches when they break in after-hours and burn the strip of paper. Dean swears he sees her mouth a thank you as her body goes up in flames. They erase all evidence they ever enrolled and head out. Sam makes him promise to not be a stranger, one that Dean knows Sam wants him to break, and sees them off.

They end up having to make a pitstop in Oakland, a familiar number texting Dean to stop by Arizmendi Bakery. It's a place famous for their vegetarian, but  _ delicious  _ pizza. And sure enough, Death is waiting outside with three boxes and a bag full of drinks. Castiel is wary around Death, he seems to be stepping on eggshells no matter how much Dean tries to get him to chill out. So he leaves, claiming he's going to watch the movie marathon at the local theater to play catch up on the latest human trends. That leaves the two of them eating at a picnic table overlooking Lake Merritt when Death breaks the silence. 

"I apologize for how long I've been gone. My workers were scrambling to gather enough numbers for the coming natural disaster. There's a cyclone brewing in Bangladesh that's going to kill at least a thousand, maybe more." He took a bite of the pizza, dabbing away the parmesan cheese on his sunken cheeks. "How have you been?"

"Fine." Surprisingly, it was more true than not. "Cas is a good partner, probably better than you. Especially considering that he can actually help me kill things." Death waves his hand dismissively, mouth quirking into a small smile.

He leans in. "'But'...... there's a 'but' here."

"We had a case in Palo Alto that took us a  _ long  _ time- I'm talking a couple weeks long." Dean believes the grimace gave him away and not the way his finger twitched in the direction of his amulet. 

Because Death heaves a sigh and says. "I'm guessing you saw Sam and didn't like the outcome."

"He acted like we never knew each other in front of the fianceé and then told me to come by more."

"Ouch."

"It's whatever. I have you and Cas and Bobby."

"No John?"

The absurdity of asking Dad for support hits Dean like a freight train and all he can do is bark out a clipped laugh. Death just nods and understanding and the two of them plow through the last pizza together. They're cleaning up and walking back to the Impala when Death asks him, "How's the angel treating you? I know you like him, it's written on your face." 

Dean stutters out a "He's fine." before internally cursing him and his stupid, roaring red flush that's spreading across his cheeks. The thin man just chuckles and throws their paper plates and cardboard away. And everything continues on, Death joins them and it's weird. Dean has an angel on one shoulder, Death on the other and a whole lot of grey area in front of him. Castiel doesn’t mind the new company  _ too  _ much, he’s still intimidated by Death but being one of God’s favorites earns him a bit of leeway. Dean knows Cas isn't obligated to stay with him anymore, but chooses to because of some reason. He pointedly ignores Death's teasing suggestions and the angel's ever tightening grip on his heart. 

They end up having to swing by Vallejo while they’re in California, a werewolf is tearing through the suburb. Eventually, Dean figures out the wolf is a single dad. He’s got three kids- two girls and a boy- and Dean can’t help but feel guilty, like he’s doing the kids an injustice by ripping away their only lifeline. It makes him hesitate in the throes of the battle, the man- Bret Heather- is clawing at his arms and gnashing at Dean’s throat, but Dean can’t bring himself to squeeze the trigger. Castiel bursts through the door and smites the guy, leaving him lifeless on top of Dean, and gets the same look from the whole siren thing. His eyes are all Dean can focus on-  _ blueblueblueblueblueblu _ \- and Dean can’t stop himself from kissing the angel senseless. He focuses on the secure grip the angel has on the back of his head, his shoulders, and not the pulsing of the gashes slashed across his forearms. He barely acknowledges Death’s knowing smirk as the entity walks through the wall and makes a phone call.

When they’re all back in Baby- Dean’s arms are wrapped in twin bandages and gauze- Death speaks up from his places in the backseat. “The children of our unfortunate lycanthrope are being adopted. I have an employee who has a fascination with human children. He will do well as their caregiver.” Dean guesses it’s fine. He has no idea how Reapers are with kids but he supposes as long as this guy doesn’t stray anywhere near Dad’s parenting, they’ll be fine.

Death insists on them stopping by Bud’s Giant Burgers and orders himself a Double Cheeseburger with extra bacon and a side of large fries. An extra large orange Crush follows shortly and Dean only just stifles a laugh at Cas’ disgusted grimace at the mountain of food. Dean eats a lot, he knows, but his regular bacon cheeseburger and fries pale in comparison. The angel’s measly apple turnover and extra large pink lemonade he’s sharing with Dean only serves to emphasize the being’s large appetite. 

Cas is sharing the booth seat with him- pressed up against Dean’s arm like a warm reminder of what they are, Death is suggesting different chains around the country to try next, Dean is trying but failing to look for a new case on the newspaper that was left on the table, and, for now, it seems like everything will be fine for awhile.

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be a series of connected oneshots, I don't have the brain power to do chapters right now. They'll be in the same weird canon I'm going with right now so if you didn't understand this, sorry, it'll probably get worse. That being said, check back for more!


End file.
